


Impromptu

by elapuse



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mild Gore, original character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6185389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elapuse/pseuds/elapuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nobody had the chance to share the same berth with Tarn. Unfortunately, he failed to realize the real purpose of him being the D.J.D leader's toy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impromptu

Rating:R  
Warining: Contains unidentifyied original character, certain degrees of gore, and OC death.  
Characters: Tarn, Overlord, and somebody who doesn't matter.

______________________________________________________-

"You're doing well."  
I lifted my helm to meet those gloomy optics behind that mask. It was hard to tell whether he was amused or just plain tired.  
Tarn didn't mind my mouth leaving its post. He spared a hand from his own amusement - tender, silky touches landed on the rim of my audio receptors. Like a turbo-fox petted by a creature of higher intelligence, I streached out my neck, my spine, to meet his fingers. Tarn seemed to enjoy the way I imagine him.  
He pretended to actually want me as a pet. That was more than enough for the likes of me. I wanted more of that.  
Without permission, I brutally spiked my fingers into his unattended valve. His body froze, and trembled unfroze. Like an arch, his body spasmed - his tighs once tried slammed shut, but was forced open with his own strength of will - he didn't want to squeeze me. He knew all too well how fragile a mech like me should be.  
"...M, more."  
I didn't hesitate to add a second, a third finger. Tarn was a large mech. This was the only way I could actually open him up. The the ridges welcomed my entrance, voluntarilly sucking and squeezing my fingers as they wormed inside. I stopped digging for a while, and started to drill - to twist my palm into his lubricating walls. With his first sensor nod pinned under my fingertips, I spinned my palm back and force, squeezing shameless moans out of the D.J.D leader - he didn't care if I was staring, but still, a hand cupped his face - mask -as if he was trying to hide from another audience. An audience that mattered.  
And that enraged me. I released my spike out of its housing, and climbed aboard the tank. I slammed all the way inside that valve I dreamed of, and Primus, it was everything I ever wanted. My vision was dyed white with pure pleasure. I wanted to overload right now, to inject the executioner's sweet port with all the unworthy fluids I could give - that is, if Tarn wouldn't destroy me for my incompetence later.  
Contrary to the heaven currently exploding in my helm, Tarn had just been damned to the pit. A pit of unresolved lust. I am already satisfied - and bound to become more than that - but he, on the other hand, is now torn between a climax and a frustrated, unresolved sexual tension.  
Tarn panted, creeping his hands all the way up my shoulders. He was literally cupping me under his palm - if I were to offend him in any way during this interface, I was almost certain that he would throw me off the berth, into the ground, through the ceiling and onto the lower floor without a thought.  
Tarn didn't. Instead, he drew small, slow circles on my back, encouraging me to go on.  
Well, that should be enough of serving him.  
I dived into his exposed chest, and went for his biolights - his platings - his twitching wires - anything that caught my attention, and nibbled like a rodent in starvation. Just like how I fantasized, Tarn's biolights were his sweet spots. I sucked his chestlight between my teeth hard before biting down. Tarn's valve trembled and loosened to this assult; I didn't give him the chance to fight back. I took another bite, tongues swirling those rims - Tarn's moans turned into whimpers. It's as if his grunts were saying: Not fair.  
Yes, surrender. Admitt your defeat.  
In Tarn's perspective, what I am doing - assuming - was equivelant to a defection. And yet, he cannot execute me. Not now. He had no choice but to enjoy my betrayl.  
"Tarn," As I pushed and pulled, I dared to say his name for the very first time. "Tarn!"  
His optics narrowed.  
"Impressive."  
He murmured.  
"Very impressive..."  
His thighs closed up around me, knecaps touching my wings with care. I suppose this is a hug.  
[This is your reward.] I belive this is what he implied.  
Tarn streched out his arms, up, and then back. He laid his helm in his own upside-down cuddle, and curled his fingers over his mask.  
With a soft click, the latchs of his mask were undone. The mear sight of his lips blew away what was left of my consciousness.  
I couldn't help but imagine my reaction  
to this if I were actually his conjux. Perhaps a kiss would be nice.  
But no. For the nobody I am, the best thing to do would be just stare at his revealed face and do nothing but stare. In his perspective, my only purpose would be to serve him with that spike of mine.  
(Or perhaps, maybe he's enjoying more than that. Maybe my blind worship amuses him just as much.)  
That thought relieved me to some point.  
I could hold the urge to thrust no longer. Tarn, well, he's still far from satisfied, but, heck with that. I don't care. Not anymore. Since me being a disappointment is inevitable, I might as well just rush to my own overload right now. I will leave with my own fantasies fufilled. And Tarn will have to deal with the craving in his valve, cursing my name while trembling on this berth. Alone.  
Tarn seemed to have discovered my intentions and whimpered some words of protest. But that's not going to do him any good now.  
The walls housing my spike clamped down like never before. He's chasing his own climax as I run for my own escape.  
"O,Overlord..."  
He murmmerd. He moaned. He cried. All in the form of a name. It seems that the rumors were true.  
I chanted his name while he chanted the name of another lunatic.  
The peak of overload is at hand. The sweet salvation shall dawn upon me any second now - I offlined my optics, and grabbed Tarn's spike at it root with both hands. I have to make sure he doesn't catch up.  
A large hand wrapped my helm from behind.  
This can't be Tarn's doing. Whose hand is this?  
I re-onlined my optics, but the universe was still pich-black. Huge fingers rubbed over my optics, completely blocking my vision.  
I can hear Tarn choke up a laugh.  
"What took you so long?"  
He said to the mech behind me.  
The hand started to squeeze. I understand that there is only one possible ending for my kind of story.  
I should have known the moment Tarn unbucked his mask.  
I should have known the moment he brought me to this very room.  
Or, at least, I should have know the moment he started to shout that certain name in ecstasy.  
I didn't hear any footsteps. Or maybe I just didn't notice him approaching.  
Maybe he was just always that close.  
My soon to be murderer sighed.  
"You,"  
(Which means, me.)  
"Who are you supposed to be this time?"  
My helm exploded like an over-inflated tire.


End file.
